


Appetence (bad blood)

by catsonfire



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Wizards, M/M, Oneshot, School Shennanigans, kind of friends to lovers, kind of slow at getting to the point, mature for implied sexy times, more like hatefriends to friends to lovers, sorry for shoving my otp in here too btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 06:45:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1377742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catsonfire/pseuds/catsonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren had his expectations, upon receiving his letter to Hogwarts, upon finding out that he was a wizard child born to two muggles without an ounce of wizard blood in the lineage. No matter how many mental images he painted up for himself, though, he wasn't mentally prepared for a life of magic after being raised to believe that it was nothing but a myth. He wasn't prepared for the friends he would make, for the impressions he would leave and receive. </p><p>Above all, he wasn't prepared for Jean Kirstein.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Appetence (bad blood)

**Author's Note:**

> my name is squid and boooooy do i love erejean. i love erejean so much. and i love harry potter. so please slap the shit out of me if any of the information here is incorrect???? i did a bit of research but i didn't. like. go all out because this was more of a feel-good, fun project than anything else. and tbh the fic itself focuses more on eren and jean than the actual magical elements so gomen about that  
> AND PLEASE DON'T STONE ME IF YOU DON'T LIKE THE HOUSES????? I'M SORRY??????? 
> 
> edited and reviewed by me and me alone so if you see errors you know EXACTLY why
> 
> anyway!! tons of thanks to thar and iza for their help: 
> 
> tumblr: danchousnachos.tubmlr.com
> 
>  
> 
> [](;)

The first time they met was on the train.

One eleven year old Eren poked his head out of the compartment and peered into the corridor. He’d managed to find that _one_ extra galleon that had shifted its way down to the bottom of his pocket during his trip onto the train, and though the sweet woman pushing the snack trolley had promised to return just for him, he thought it was better to save her the trip and find her himself. He peeked back into the compartment, grinning at the girl he’d met at the station who had helped him and offered to sit with him. She watched him with a small, hardly visible smile while her hand worked at petting the long black cat lounging in her lap.

“I’m gonna go catch her!” he said, stepping out into the corridor. He turned, only shutting the door when Mikasa warned him to be careful. Under his breath, as he slowly made his way down the corridor, testing his legs, he whispered to himself, “She’s just like Mom.”

Moving down the train was less of a challenge than he had expected (every time he peeked out the windows at the trees and landscape they sped by he felt a little sick, though), so long as he watched where he was going.  Of course, he was watching his feet as he walked, looking up to see if he’d caught up with the candy woman every time he entered a new car. Luckily enough for him he didn’t run into anyone headlong but merely brushed shoulders. That, apparently, was enough.

“Hey, mate, watch where you’re going!”

A hand grabbed Eren’s shoulder—much harder than he thought was strictly necessary, really—and spun him around. Eren reeled, stumbling just slightly, before his teal eyes met honey-colored ones, big and annoyed.

“How uncultured do you have to be to just try to keep on walking after bumping into a pureblood?” the boy demanded, eyes narrowing, lips thinning into an annoyed line. His hand still gripped Eren’s shoulder, unrelenting. He had brown hair, a little messy like Eren’s own, but shorter. Signs of spots were already popping up on his chin and cheeks. “Can’t you tell?”

“I don’t really care if you’re a pureblood or not,” Eren said, sneering a little. “Sorry. Can you let me go? I’m trying to catch the candy lady.”

“Who cares about the candy lady?” the pureblood scoffed, finally withdrawing his arm and crossing it with his other over his chest. “Only little kids still eat candy.”

“I’m eleven,” Eren said dryly. “I think I can eat some candy.”

“You must be a pretty big disappointment to your parents.”

“They are actually pretty proud of me,” Eren countered, smiling a little to himself. Even though none of this had anything to do with his candy—which he still very much wanted, especially one of those chocolate frogs—he couldn’t see anything wrong with sharing his own excitement. “I mean, they’re just simple people from London, y’know? I’m sure my pop wanted me to grow up to be a doctor like him, but he was pretty excited when I got my letter.”

The pure-blood watched him with still-narrow honey-colored eyes, gears in his mind working vigorously to put two and two together. When he finally did, though, he staggered away from Eren as though he was infectious (or more like he stank, Eren thought).

“You’re a mudblood!” the boy exclaimed, pointing a patronizing finger at Eren. He looked angry, disgusted, almost betrayed. “You’re a mudblood and you _touched_ me!”

Eren’s eyebrows shot up and confusion swam in his mind as the pureblood spun away from him and stomped down the corridor, opposite the way Eren had been going. He muttered under his breath as he went, ripping the car door open (as hard as first year could, or at least Eren assumed he was a first year) before stepping into the next and slamming it behind him.

When Eren returned to his and Mikasa’s compartment with his chocolate frog after successfully hunting down the candy lady, the word ‘mudblood’ remained at the tip of his tongue, the boy’s face at the forefront of his mind. He settled back into his seat, slipping his hand into his pocket to let his rat (a white little thing that he’d named Danny) skitter out and onto the seat beside him, and placed his candy down on the other side of him. He peered across the compartment to Mikasa, the girl staring out the window contentedly.

“Mikasa,” he said quietly. The girl’s eyes darted over to him immediately, visibly concerned by the near meekness of his tone. “Um. What’s a mudblood?”

Her eyes opened wide for a counted three seconds before she regained her composure. She petted the cat in her lap, turning her eyes away from the formerly very excited and vibrant boy across from her.

“It’s a bad name for people like you,” she says, voice gentle and words careful. “You know. Someone with two muggle parents. Muggle-born is another name for it.”

Eren swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and bit at his lower lip.

“Is being muggle-born a bad thing?”

“Not at all,” she answered coolly, shaking her head in two swift motions. She smiled a little reassuringly over at Eren, fingers stopping just behind her cat’s (who he’d found out was named Draconis, which was a little intimidating) ears to scratch lightly. The happy black creature purred and Eren thought, for a second, that he sounded like an actual lawn mower trapped in a cat’s body. “Some purebloods think it’s terrible, being born from muggles, but I don’t think so. You’re just like the rest of us, yeah?”

Eren’s smile was back like a struck match and he nodded eagerly. He scooped his rat and chocolate frog up before plopping down next to Mikasa and Draconis. He held out his chocolate frog, not yet opened and still nicely tucked into its package.

“You said these things move, right? Let’s share it!”

 

_+_

 

Eren was mostly enthralled by the floating candles and chandeliers, and how he could _see_ a sky instead of a ceiling. He stared with star-speckled eyes up at the magic floating above him, thinking, _I could do that one day. I could do all that stuff you see on TV._ He’d never been exposed to magic before, never believed it existed, and now he knew that he could _create_ things with it.

The brunette only looked away from the enchantments when he had to. A boy next to him, Connie, was just as entranced with the ceiling as he was, while Mikasa, to his right, looked rather bored with the entire ordeal. There was a kid in front of him with blonde hair and a book in hand that would periodically glance up and then look back at Eren and Connie when they would get too loud, smiling as a quiet request for them to shut up. It tended to only be effective for a few minutes, until one of them noticed something new and pointed it out to the other.

(As it turned out, Connie asked him if he was muggle-born as well, guessing only by how impressed with the ceiling he was, and Eren was already relieved to have met another like him. The experience with the pureblood on the train had shaken him ever-so-slightly, left him a little concerned.)

“ _Marco Bodt._ ”

A olive-skinned, freckled boy with shortly cropped black hair hopped up to the stool and clambered onto it, a little too much of a beat in his step to be as nervous as many of the other kids around Eren. He smiled brightly at Professor Nanaba, a fairly tall woman with short blonde hair, before she promptly placed the dirty, old-looking hat atop his head. The moment it shouted, “ _Hufflepuff!_ ” for the Great Hall to hear, the Hufflepuff table erupted with cheers and enveloped Marco among them. He made himself right at home between a girl with pig-tails and a boy with curly red hair, already laughing about something with them.

Eren turned his eyes back to the ceiling while the chatter subsided, distracted by a shooting star and a little flickering light that he couldn’t differentiate between another star, a satellite or an airplane.

“ _Sasha Braus_.”

A girl with auburn hair standing on the opposite side of Connie jerked to life, standing up straight and running to the front of the slowly lessening mass of kids. It wasn’t until she was up at the stool alone that she froze, staring out among her peers and other unsorted witches and wizards. Her eyes widened, fingers tightening on the edge of the stool as Professor Nanaba dropped the hat down onto her head.

She closed her eyes tight—Eren could see the lines of her skin from where he stood with the rest—lips moving furiously as the hat ‘hmph’d and ‘hum’d. It was like she was whispering a prayer, trying to talk the hat out of whatever it had decided.

“ _Gryffindor!_ ” the hat bellowed at last.

Sasha’s shoulders and jaw dropped while her eyes opened, confusion and surprise writing itself over her features. She shakily stood from the stool (and Nanaba hardly snagged the sorting hat off of her head in time) before darting off to the Gryffindor table and suiting herself among her fellow Gryffindors.

“ _Jean Kirstein._ ”

Eren didn’t have time to cast his routine gaze up to the ceiling before the name was called. He peered around for a short moment, taking in the faces, before a short brown-haired boy emerged from the mass and stepped up to the stool.

And it was the same short brown-haired boy he’d run into on the train, spots and all. The same one who had called him a mudblood, seemed disgusted that Eren had so much as touched him, maybe even disgusted with the fact that he’d breathed his own air. He looked so smug, now, so pleased with himself and confident as he sat on the stool and welcomed the sorting hat onto his head. His cheeks were red, smile a little too wide and a little too confident.

Eren caught a, “He’s going to Slytherin,” from the blonde boy in front of him, whispered to the kid beside him, just before the very house name was announced.

“ _Slytherin!_ ”

Jean hopped down from the stool and grinned impossibly wider, honey-colored eyes making contact with Eren’s for just a second, just an infuriating second that makes Eren believe that _Jean_ believes he’s not worth the pureblood’s time. The Slytherin table accepted Jean much in the same way the other tables had accepted the other witches and wizards, except it seemed as though they’d had a spot cleared out for him, one closer to the front of the Great Hall between two older Slytherins.

“Why did you say he’d be a Slytherin?” Eren asked, tugging lightly on the blonde boy’s sweater. The boy turned to look at him, big blue eyes more analytical and knowing than he’d expected, and Eren’s hand dropped to his side. “I don’t really know how things work around here.”

“It’s a family thing,” the blonde replied, smiling. “The Kirsteins are always Slytherin. It’s been that way for generations. A lot of families are like that—wizard families, at least.”

“Is your family like that?”

“Not really,” the blonde replied, pushing his hair behind his ears and shuffling back to stand next to Eren to watch the rest of the ceremony properly. “I’m a half-blood, though. My mum’s a muggle and my dad decided to live the life of one when he met her. Didn’t work out so well when they had me, I guess.”

Eren grinned a little and opened his mouth to respond, but the sorting hat announced another house loud enough to make him jump. The blonde grinned.

“I’m Armin Arlert, it’s nice to meet you. You are?”

“Eren—“

“ _Eren Jaeger_.”

The brunette practically shot up straight, eyes widening and body freezing. He managed to get himself to move after a moment, nerves finally taking over as he maneuvered his way to the front of the Great Hall, where Professor Nanaba, the sorting hat and the stool stood, waiting for him.

He could have sworn he felt every single eye in the large castle on him (and he wouldn’t have been too far off, really), every professor behind the table overlooking the rest of the Great Hall watching him, taking him in. He remembered Sasha, who had nearly frozen when she’d sat down on the stool, and Marco who had been cheerful and excited, and Jean who had been too smug, too knowing. They had all experienced the exact same thing. Everyone in the Great Hall had at one time, he realized.

Nerves came and went as Eren crawled onto the stool. As he looked out over the small body of students waiting to be sorted, and the already-sorted, he saw reassuring smiles, ceremonial excitement in eyes, joy. He felt Professor Nanaba drop the hat onto his head and he decided, then and there, that he was incredibly lucky. He was experiencing something no other muggle boy ever would.

 _Just hope I’m not sorted with that Jean kid,_ he thought, wiggling a little impatiently under the scrutiny of the hat. _I’d probably end up punching him or something if that happened._

_“Gryffindor!”_

Eren wasn’t entirely sure how, but his wobbly legs carried him over to the Gryffindor table, beautifully decorated with reds and golds. He found a seat next to Sasha and a few others who had been housed before them, the upperclassmen still hooting and hollering over their new addition, patting him on the back, welcoming him warmly.

He smiled to himself, peering up and down the impossibly long dining table, at the happy faces, the ornate decorations and center pieces. Warmth settled into his chest, a feeling of being welcome.

The muggle-born caught Jean’s eye from the other side of the Great Hall and the boy sneered at him in response to his smile.

 _Doesn’t bother me,_ Eren thought, smile still in place as he turned to face the front as another name was called. _I won’t be seeing him much._

_+_

It didn’t take but about two weeks for Eren and Jean to get into their first fist-fight. Jean had called Eren a mudblood while passing him in the hall, to which Eren had replied to with, “Go to hell!” and received a punch to the nose. A seventh year named Moblit Berner had pulled them apart by some miracle, being the only upperclassman around with a level-head enough to take over the situation. And while Eren had been tossed to one side and Jean the other, Professor Zoe had come flying straight out of the hell that was her Potions classroom at that very moment.

Moblit had been nicknamed “snitch” by Jean, and “decent” by the rest of the school.

(Another nickname had been some hilariously embarrassing rendition of ”prince charming” by Professor Zoe, who’d only use said endearment around poor Moblit’s underclassmen to watch him turn shades of red.)

 

_+_

 

Eren had four classes with Jean. He saw him nearly every single day, multiple times throughout the day. He’d even found out that his Defense Against the Dark Arts (a short, grumpy-looking man who’d informed them they could call him Levi and _only_ Levi) teacher assigned seating based on last names—And he was sitting next to Jean.

He was lucky enough to snag a seat next to Mikasa in Charms and to share a table between her and Armin in Transfiguration. Seating in Potions class was free reign, so he had nothing to worry about as long as he made it there quickly enough. With his other classes free of Jean, though, he worried less about them and more about not getting caught running on the way to Potions by the wrong professor.

He found himself slowly dreading Defense Against the Dark Arts more and more, and he couldn’t tell if it was his foul-mouthed teacher, or the brown-haired boy with spots that sat next to him and shot him a dirty look every time he so much as breathed.

 

_+_

 

“If you two don’t shut up, I’m going to force you to hold hands.”

Eren and Jean froze in their seats, bodies still facing towards each other, arms hanging limply in the air from where they’d been pointing and gesturing wildly to each other during their most recent spat that included, but was not limited to, whisper-yelling and foul words that their mothers, respectively, would have beaten them over the head with sandals for. Their eyes widened and they turned to stare at their professor, standing in front of their shared desk with his hands on his hips.

It was only the middle of their second year, but Eren had already learned to fear Professor Levi. Maybe not so much as his substitute, Petra (who had a very dubious past of throwing chairs and breaking things when students acted up), but he never made empty threats. Eren had watched him trap a sixth year by hanging him from a chandelier by his underwear when the student hadn’t believed he’d do it.

Eren had learned his lesson without needing to.

Levi only turned away from the two of them and went back to his lecture when they both nodded and practically shouted out, “Yes sir!”

The peace only lasted a few beautiful moments, though. Jean was muttering under his breath, kicking his feet from under their desk restlessly, glaring over at Eren. Something about “still being stuck with the mudblood.”

“Shut up, Jean,” Eren muttered, scratching down a few scarce notes (as minimal as possible—Levi spoke very quickly and reviewed for no student so he had to be quick). He ignored the boy’s muttering in favor for making eye contact, nearly as scarce as his notes, with his professor to let him know he was listening. He wasn’t about to get in trouble for Jean’s big mouth, at least not until Jean kicked his leg from under the table. “Dude! Do you want to hold my hand or something?!”

Jean glared and hissed out, “Of course not! That was an accident!”

“I’m sure it was,” Eren grumbled, rolling his eyes and catching the tail end of the professor’s sentence to scribble it down. “Whatever.”

“What was that?!”

Something—a book, upon further inspection—slammed down on their shared desk and both boys jumped, staring up at Professor Levi with huge, horrified eyes.

“Hold hands. No, don’t look at me like that, hold hands. You two are going to _learn_ how to tolerate each other.”

The class snickered around them and red flared onto Eren’s cheeks, embarrassment and anger (at the professor or the pureblood sitting next to him, he was unsure) burning through his veins. He tried his best death glare on for size, one he’d tried to pick up from Professor Levi himself, and fixed it onto Jean while the boy stared up at their professor, mouth ajar and eyes wide. He shook his head furiously, sinking back into his chair while their classmates stared on.

“You can’t make us do that,” Jean defied, brows furrowing as his eyes darted between Levi and Eren. “That has to be against the rules somehow! That’s just not right!”

“If it was against the rules, I’d know,” Professor Levi muttered, eyes narrowing into slits as he stared at Jean. “Would you rather I knock points from your house? When Slytherin loses the house cup this year, everyone can blame it on Jean Kirstein, the boy who just wouldn’t hold hands with someone.”

Eren watched as Jean’s jaw clenched and unclenched, fists curled and uncurled on the table as he stared up at their professor. He still looked disbelieving, like Levi would never do something like that, like he had absolutely no right to.

When Jean opened his mouth to protest again, new braces gleaming in the light of the classroom, Eren sighed and held out his hand.

“Come on, Jean.” He grimaced, a girl sitting behind them giggling wildly into her palm. “I’m not going to burn your skin off. It’ll be over before you know it. You’re left-handed, aren’t you? You can still write notes.”

It took jean a solid four minutes, but he finally (though very hesitantly) pressed his palm to Eren’s. The muggle-born rolled his eyes and let their hands drop between them before returning to jotting down notes to the lecture that Levi only continued after giving them a short nod of approval. He sacrificed a short glance over to Jean before returning to his work, and the boy looked like a mixture of flustered and constipated.

Jean’s hand sweated far too much for his comfort, but Eren survived.

And so did Jean, though he’d seemed to not believe he would at first. He eventually relaxed next to Eren, hand hanging loosely though keeping just enough grip on Eren’s that they wouldn’t fall away. At one time, Eren was tempted to rip his hand away from Jean’s just to wipe it on his trousers (Jean really _did_ sweat a lot from his hands, it was honestly kind of gross), but doubted that would go unnoticed from their strict professor.

The moment Levi dismissed the class, they gathered their things and ran opposite directions—only to be pulled back together, heads and shoulders knocking angrily at the force.

“Let go of me, Jaeger!” Jean growled, furiously yanking his hand away from Eren, but to no avail. “This isn’t funny! We have to go to lunch!”

“I’m not holding onto you, Jean. Quit pulling, I’m not doing it!”

“Well it’s not me, either! What, did you superglue your hand or something?”

“How stupid do you think I am?!”

“Well, pretty da—“

“Okay, you two morons stop before someone pulls an arm out of a socket or something,” Levi called from the front of the now-empty classroom. From where Eren stood, the professor looked a little smug, a little too pleased with himself. Professor Levi rarely smiled, and now he looked fairly close to it. “Come on up here. Bring your books and stuff.”

When they’d made it up to the professor’s desk, the man was grinning to himself, eying their hands. It wasn’t until they’d stopped and Levi was glancing between them, waiting for one of them to say something or figure it out, that the realization derailed and slapped Eren in the face.

“You bound our hands together,” Eren breathed, eyes wide. “We’re not going to be able to let go, are we, sir?”

“Nope,” Levi answered, lounging carelessly back into his chair. “This is what you get for disrupting class. I think next time I’d think before I opened my snotty mouth if I were either of you.”

“How long?” Jean’s question came out more like a ground up demand, voice a little hoarse, eyes a little red. His hand was shaking in Eren’s grasp, his fingers squeezing Eren’s hand so tightly his knuckles were white and Eren had to jerk his hand to get him to let up a little. “Seriously, this isn’t a joke. You don’t understand how much people are going to make fun of us—!”

“I understand very well,” Levi drawled, rolling his eyes. “Until an hour before lights out tonight. It’s not permanent, but it’ll give you two the day to sort out your . . . Feelings.”

“I’m stuck holding hands with this disgusting mudblood and you think this is _funny_ —“

Levi’s hand snapped forward and gripped the front of Jean’s uniform shirt, pulling him towards the desk with so much force that even Eren lurched along with him. The professor glared down at Jean until the boy shrank back, visibly willing the empty classroom to swallow him whole and save him the terror of an angry Professor Levi. Eren was relieved, though, that he hadn’t started throwing or breaking anything yet. He couldn’t be _that_ angry about the slur.

“Listen here, Kirstein,” Levi seethed. “I don’t give a damn about your heritage or your entitled, warped view of the way things work, because they _don’t_ work that way around here and they never will. I put up with your parents when I was here with them, but I’m not going to put up with you. I suggest you either keep your mouth shut, or you start opening your mind a little. Now get the hell out of my classroom—both of you.”

The moment Jean was released, Eren was pulling him out of the classroom at top speed, only slowing when he heard Jean stumble behind him. He glanced back to the Slytherin when they made it out to the hallway—and he’d only really looked back to make sure he had all of his things and wouldn’t be dragging Eren back in to pick up a dropped notebook or something—and only slowed when everything was in order.

Jean said nothing as they walked down the corridor towards the Great Hall, and Eren didn’t bother to pry anything out of him. Even when he heard a quiet sniffle from behind and glanced back to see Jean rubbing his eyes, Eren remained silent, granted the pureblood some peace for once. He only sighed and gave Jean’s hand what he hoped would be seen as a reassuring squeeze.

Out of all of the times in only a solid year at Hogwarts he and Jean fights (either ones that had been broken up and taken record of, or the private ones where they’d just had to tire themselves out, heaving and a little bloody, lying on the ground in a weirdly companionable rivalry), he thought he should hate the other boy a little more than he did.

_What am I going to do with this guy?_

_+_

“Uh. Hey. Can I copy your notes? For the test in Levi’s class, I mean.”

Eren knew exactly what to expect when he looked up from his book and slumped back into his chair. Jean Kirstein, of course, standing in front of his study table (which was splayed with a chaotic mess of papers and books and his quill) (he wouldn’t deny it if someone tried to imply one or more of those books had been snuck to him by Armin from the Forbidden section of the library—the Slytherin had his ways), awkwardly rubbing his elbows and shifting from foot to foot. The pureblood grimaced, shifting his focus away from Eren and to the disaster that his study table consisted of.

Jean had matured fairly nicely over the summer, but Eren wasn’t willing to admit that out loud. His spots were finally starting to fade, he’d gotten a suiting haircut and even done a little dying to his hair (even if Eren had once thought that two-toned hair was ridiculous and pointless), and he’d a growth spurt that Eren, himself, had yet to catch up to. He was lanky, now, having lost the majority of his baby fat and childish roundness. Thirteen was a good look on the pureblood.

Meanwhile, Eren had twice as many spots as he had last year, a chipped tooth because one particularly rough spar with Jean at the end of their second year (thank god it was a baby tooth; he’d been a little late to lose all of them), and his hair was starting to get a little oily. He hadn’t grown a single damn inch all Summer, hadn’t found a single dark hair on his body.  

“Why don’t you just ask Armin?” Eren asked, fixing Jean with a light, tamed glare. “He’s way smarter than me. I bet he caught everything.”

“I can’t find him anywhere?”

“Well, what about Mikasa?”

“Eren—“

Jean’s cheeks tinted a bright pink and his lips trembled a little as he tried his damndest to glare at Eren. Unimpressed, the Gryffindor grinned instead of shrinking back like Jean would have liked.

“Of course,” Eren drawled, kicking his feet out in front of him. He marked his place in his book and sat it down among his mess of things in front of him. Jean’s face was, fascinatingly enough, swiftly changing from bright pink to dark red, like a mood ring, and Eren couldn’t quite decide if it was anger or embarrassment he saw on the other boy’s expression. “You’re too _scared_ to talk to Mikasa. Cute, Kirstein.”

“I’m not scared to talk to Mikasa!” Jean hissed. He was turning an impossible shade of red and Eren almost wanted to call a professor over to check on him. That would ruin his fun, though. “Why would I be scared of Mikasa?!”

“Because you’ve got a big, fat, gross crush on her.”

“Like hell I do—“

“You totally do.”

Jean stared at him with huge eyes, eyebrows furrowed with frustration, teeth bared. He silently seethed, though, no real words forming from his mouth from his anger as he tried to collect his composure. It was something of a feat, and eventually the color started to fade, but not before he glared sharply at the brunette.

“If anyone’s got a crush on Mikasa, it’s definitely you.”

Heat flared in Eren’s cheeks and he pushed himself up from the study chair, jabbing an offending finger into Jean’s chest, pushing him away from himself and his study desk. Eyes were on them, now, but Eren didn’t really care.

(Needless to say, he _didn’t_ have a crush on Mikasa, he’d never bothered to think about her in such a way, but the concept was embarrassing or frustrating or maybe both. Maybe if anyone else had accused him of something like that, he would’ve just ignored them, but this was Jean. Everything Jean did made Eren want to punch him in the face, rationally or otherwise.)

“I don’t! She’s like my damn sister!” he very nearly yelled, taking a long stride towards Jean. The Slytherin only stepped up to the challenge, moving close enough to Eren that the Gryffindor could feel his breath on his face, hovering over him with stupid growth spurt height and his stupid braces and his stupid two-toned hair. “Don’t try to cover up your feelings by attacking me!”

“Oh yeah? Well—“

A hand gripped Eren’s hair and smashed his forehead into Jean’s.

“This is a study room,” a gruff voice told the boys as they stumbled away from each other and rubbed their foreheads. “Not a damn football field. I’d suggest you two sit down and get to work before someone calls Professor Levi in here.”

Eren and Jean stared at each other, wide-eyed and horror-stricken by the very mention of their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher as Mike Zacharius, professor in charge of the care of magical creatures, wandered away from them and towards a few bookshelves. Eren could almost see Jean’s life flash before his eyes, undoubtedly etched with every single second of the day their hands had been bound together. If that wasn’t the only key to getting the two of them to do exactly what they didn’t want to do, nothing ever would be.

“Seriously,” Jean finally mumbled when Professor Zacharius had disappeared to a closed off area of the study room. “Can I copy your notes? Please? Levi talks too fast for me to get everything down, and everyone else will laugh at me if I just _admit_ that. I’ll—I don’t know, what I’ll do, but I’ll repay you.”

Eren sighed, plopping himself down into his chair. He looked Jean over once before nodding to the chair next to him.

“Make some room. I hope you brought your own quil. And don’t even think about touching my soup.”

 

_+_

 

Eren tried dating Mikasa.

That, of course, had failed absolutely miserably. It wasn’t so much a mistake as a derailed, flying, flame-throwing disaster. Not to say that their friendship had suffered, Eren had just been blessed with the epiphany that holding hands with a girl was _not_ what he cared about—especially not Mikasa, who he felt was more of a sister than a romantic interest, ew—let alone what he found appealing whatsoever.

He would’ve much rather been on a Quidditch field, maybe strategically hitting bludgers towards Jean, if they happened to be having a practice match, maybe not. He would’ve rather been climbing trees, exploring the insides and outsides of Hogwarts because, no matter what, there was still something new to discover every day. He was still fourteen, still only on his fourth year out of seven in Hogwarts. Romance, so far, was the last thing on his mind.

He didn’t have time for a girlfriend, but he had time for a friend. And when Eren had cut their awkward and stumbling hardly-relationship off before they’d even kissed, Mikasa had seemed a little disappointed, but nonetheless a little relieved to return to normal. She was more willing to follow him with Armin wherever they wanted to go all over again, though she claimed it was to keep them out of trouble. She was back to her normal, generally stoic self, cracking untimely jokes and punching the hell out of any pureblood who dare berate her for associating with a muggle-born and a halfblood.

And Jean finally stopped seething with jealousy every time he as much as stepped into the same room as Eren, and for once in their life, they went nearly an entire month without physically hurting one another. Fights were substantially less frequent and their bodies almost went into shock from the lack of rough-housing and activity.

“I don’t see why you don’t just ask her out,” Eren said, grinning and leaning back into his chair. It was the last few minutes of Professor Levi’s class, the man lounging behind his desk while the students were given a few minutes of free time to chatter and finish unfinished homework. “I mean, she might turn you down, but _everyone_ knows you’ve got this huge crush on her. I don’t know why you don’t just go for it.”

Jean glared over at him, cheeks already warming. “Shut up. It’s not that easy.”

“Oh, maybe you’ve actually got a crush on _me_?” Eren challenged, grin widening. Jean’s gaped. “It would make sense. You’re always picking on me and stuff. You’re just trying to deny your feelings for a mudblood because mommy and daddy would disown you.”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Jean growled, already poised to push Eren out of his chair. “I don’t give a damn about you. Mikasa’s pretty, and you look like the Whomping Willow took seven too many _whomps_ at your face.”

“You would know all about that, huh.”

“You two shut the hell up!” Levi shouted from the front of the class. Every pair of students froze in their seats, but Levi’s eyes zeroed in on Eren and Jean. “Dumb and Dumber, back there. And watch your fucking mouth, Kirstein. I can hear your unfortunate sputtering all the way up here.”

Jean, red-faced, glared down at the papers on their joined table and Eren hid a smile behind his hands.

“I hate that guy,” Jean muttered. He peeked up only for a moment to catch one more glance of Levi, and his eyes were still locked on the pureblood. Quickly, his eyes darted back down to his papers, feigning attention. “And he hates me.”

“You’ll thank me one day, Kirstein!”

“He definitely hates you,” Eren said, nodding solemnly as he patted Jean’s back once. “As much as he hates me. Did you know there are rumors going around that the reason we’re all stuck in the same seats every single year is because of us?”

“Don’t include me in the blame, Jaeger.”

 

_+_

 

Jean tried dating during their fourth year, too. It was near Christmas time when he found himself a pretty little girlfriend; she was petite, only a few inches shorter than Eren, himself, with long blonde hair. And she was a Slytherin. That was all Eren cared to remember about her.

That and she was easily one of the most annoying creatures he’d ever met in his life.

He wasn’t entirely sure what about her infuriated him so much. Out of the three months that she and jean dated, Eren had been forced to speak to her on about three different occasions. She had a high-pitched, squeaky voice that made his head hurt, and nails so long he was pretty sure she could gouge his eyes out if she tried. She was the kind of girl who was planning out their marriage after two weeks, gushing to her friends about what they’d name their children, and what color her dress would be.

And she glared at Eren every time Jean’s head was turned.

Jean refused to talk about why exactly they had broken up, only saying it was because he needed more time to focus on his O.W.L. studies, and it seemed true enough. Every time Eren stepped into the study room that he regulared, Jean was always already territorially lounged at Eren’s favorite table, taking up all of the space by laying across both chairs and staring down at his books, propped on the floor.

Eren still couldn’t remember that girl’s name. Didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter until she stomped up to Jean in the middle of Charms, screamed something about him being a “lying bastard” and how she wouldn’t be “keeping his secret” for him, right before slapping the wizard across the face and stomping away.

Armin had been saying something, a few seats away, about how the ground keeper’s cat’s name was an anagram of ‘Petra’, and how he doubted it was coincidental when the slap-heard-around-the-world came to be. The classroom fell silent, all eyes on Jean as he stared, dumb-struck in front of him, Marco practically flailing in the seat next to him over the scorching red mark on his face. Professor Smith made chase after the rotten little blonde witch and Eren had to fight the urge to stand up (he didn’t know why he felt the urge, but he wanted to go over to Jean—he convinced himself it was just to be nosy and find out what had happened exactly, not to assure himself of the pureblood’s wellbeing).

“She muttered something about a queer under her breath when she walked by,” Mikasa pointed out, leaning over the edge of their desk to get a better look at Jean. “Do you think Kirstein’s gay? What if he dumped her for a guy that he’s secretly dating or something?”

“That seems pretty ridiculous,” Eren said, shaking his head. “I mean, he spends basically all of his time in the study room. I never see him with anyone.”

“The study room you always use?”

“Yeah, he likes taking over my table. Half of the time I have to push his shit out of the way. He knows that’s been my table since, like, first year. He’s just an ass.”

He shrugged, lifting himself up out of his chair just a little to see that Jean had snapped himself out of his stupor, rubbing his cheek a little blearily as he seemed to be reassuring Marco. He could be dating the Hufflepuff, thinking of it, but it was pretty doubtful. Eren couldn’t see Jean interested in a Hufflepuff. The only person outside of his house he’d ever expressed interest in, though not verbally, had been Mikasa . . .

 _And when did I start knowing all of this shit about_ Kirstein _, of all people?_

“Uh. Eren.”

Eren blinked, dropping back down into his chair and peering around Mikasa. Armin was smiling a little sheepishly, fiddling with the green and silver scarf wrapped around his neck.

“Yeah?”

“I think you might be the secret boyfriend.”

Eren gaped. All he could do was gape, though, lips moving wordlessly as he tried to grasp onto something to say, something intelligible, but all that came out was a garbled mess of syllables and vowels. Armin covered his mouth, at one point, to hide a very glaringly obvious grin, before Eren’s jaw snapped up and the noises finally came to a stop.

Compared to the first year, Jean and Eren _had_ gotten substantially closer than Eren had ever imagined. He didn’t think he could consider them friends, per se, but he did consider them close. It was more like they had a rivalry, a duel at least once a week to which they were usually evenly matched. They were never truly kind or friendly towards each other, but their standings were more pleasant than before. Jean had stopped calling him ‘mudblood’ so much, at least less as a derogatory term, and almost as a term of endearment instead. He’d started smiling more, started laughing, joking, treating him like an equal—

Eren’s jaw clenched and unclenched a few times as he stared over at Jean from across the room.

“ . . . You two aren’t dating, are you?” Armin asked, tone cautious, as if Eren could rupture and explode, raining down anger. “I mean, not that, you know, we’d judge you or anything. Too much. It’s just something your friends should know about, right? There’s no reason to hide something—“

“Of course we’re not!” Eren hurried to assure the boy, grimacing and shaking his head. They’d gained onlookers by then. Perfect. “Seriously. He’s just stopped being such a royal douche lately. It’s really nothing special.”

“If you say so.”

By the time Smith returned to the classroom, looking as calm and composed as ever, class time was nearly over. Their professor was a little mortified to realize that they had lost nearly half of their lecture time thanks to Jean’s ex-girlfriend’s outbreak (and he’d muttered something about fourteen year olds being a little too young for drama like that), but he released the class nonetheless, not bothering with an extra assignment.

And if anyone caught Eren watching Jean a little closer than usual, nobody said a word.

 

_+_

 

Jean found Eren on the Quidditch field after a friendly skirmish.

Slytherin had a stable past of wiping the floor with Gryffindor, which had led to many pride-fueled arguments between Eren and Jean. They’d managed to calm down after adjusting to playing against each other, both Beaters instead channeling most of their frustrations towards each other out onto the Bludgers. And if the coaches caught them throwing their bats at each other’s faces at times, they said nothing or looked the other way entirely.

As Jean pussyfooted his way over to Eren, stopping to kick a rock or two despite very obviously being on a path towards the muggle-born, Eren realized that he was never the one to seek Jean out. Or, at least, when he was, it almost always ended in an argument of some sort and with someone getting hit in the face. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he should try to be a little bit more pleasant to the Slytherin boy, even if he didn’t think he deserved it much. Jean could be pleasant when he actually felt like it.

“Hey,” Jean said, sheepish and a little pathetic looking. The small group of Gryffindors sitting in their little makeshift circle in the soft grass regarded Jean with a little confusion, most eyes immediately landing on Eren to watch his reaction. “Eren. Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Uh. Sure?”

Eren blinked once. His teammates looked between him and Jean a few times, Sasha grinning suggestively.

“Now you two don’t run off to some bathroom and get too freaky,” the Chaser teased, waggling her eyebrows and waving her fingers at the boys. “We’re all waiting for it, none of us can lie about it, but be safe!”

“Shut up,” Eren said, rolling his eyes and shooting a weak glare at Sasha. He heaved himself up from the ground, muscles still burning from training. They made their way away from the others and though Jean figured he’d stop a little ways away so that Eren could re-join his teammates after whatever kind of “talk” they were about to have, but Jean kept walking, hands stuffed into his trouser pockets underneath his cloak. When they _did_ stop, they were in some courtyard near the training grounds classrooms. “Okay, what’s up? This is really damn weird of you.”

“You can’t laugh,” Jean muttered, narrowing his eyes at Eren. “But I need to ask you a favor. Nobody else will do it for me, and I know you’re not a little wuss.”

Eren didn’t back down from challenges. Or, rather, he didn’t back down from challenges by strange frienemies, his apparent rival, who implied he was a little wimp for not doing something. He would not back out of things. That was how he, somehow, ended up back in the Gryffindor common room with Jean (it’d been surprisingly easy to get Jean in; the paintings hadn’t had many qualms), two clean piercing needles, a nerve numbing potion (with some ice just in case), a cork, some alcohol cotton swabs and two plain earrings.

 “Before I seriously end up doing this,” Eren mumbled, hesitating slightly with one needle in his hand, ear stud already placed in the hollow little opening. “Do you _seriously_ want me to pierce your years for you, Jean? I mean, I can, but do you—“

“If you keep talking, I’m going to end up backing out. Quit trying to talk me out of it.”

“Won’t your parents freak?”

Jean had no response for that, save for a short dirty look before he glared in the general direction of the door. Eren heaved a sigh and rubbed the ice cube over Jean’s ear lobe. It was the second time he’d done it, just to make sure the numbing potion had taken affect, and Jean didn’t so much as flinch. When he pulled the cube away and dropped it back into the cub, Jean’s eyes were clenched shut, jaw flexing, hands balled into fists and resting in his lap.

“One more time, Jean,” Eren said, forcing a special softness and slowness to his voice that would demand Jean’s response. He ran the tip of the piercing needle over the tip of a candle for a few moments, letting the metal heat up to a substantial temperature. He lined it up with the small mark he made on Jean’s ear, not quite touching the skin but hardly hovering off of it, sure to keep it at a near perfect angle. “Tell me to stop or this is gonna happen. Are you gonna be a wizard, or a little bitch?”

“Just fucking do it!” the pureblood hissed out and his eyes clenched even tighter, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Make it quick, just kind of stab—“

Stab, Eren did.

Whether it was because of a burst of adrenaline or just the overcoming, absolute need to get Jean Kirstein to just shut up, he pushed with enough force to cleanly pierce through Jean’s ear lobe. The needle stuck into the cork he had placed behind Jean’s lobe with a soft almost-pop.

Jean didn’t react properly at first, even as Eren pulled the needle out of Jean’s ear and slid the back into the shiny new study protruding from the freshly pierced skin. The Slytherin did, though, peek an eye open and peer at Eren through his periphery, an almost relieved look on his face.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Eren asked, grinning. He rounded Jean, sitting on the other side of him with his supplies. “Next one, yeah?”

And though Jean complained endlessly for the next two weeks about having sore ears, and being unable to change clothes or brush his hair or take showers without copious care, he seemed a little proud. It might have just been excitement and the thrill of doing something he knew his parents would condemn (Eren had gathered that much on his own). Regardless, Eren decided that silver looked good on Jean. 

 

_+_

 

 

Armin got kind of hot over the Summer.

It wasn’t so much a big deal to Eren, and he assumed Mikasa as well, as it was a _goddamn problem_. Girls that had spent the majority of their now-solid four years together (it was hard to believe that they were fifth years and would be taking their O.W.L.s in no time) teasing and nitpicking Armin for his appearance had crawled out of the cesspools that were probably perfume-infested lady’s washrooms to ask if he was looking for a girlfriend. Even a few guys had tugged Eren to the side asking if he had the slightest clue to his best friend’s sexuality, and if he’d be interested in guys.

Truth be told, before the Summer, Armin had been short, round with pro-adolescence, a little more baby fat than strictly necessary for his body. He couldn’t properly fit into most of his clothes, let alone fill out his size, and that resulted in many rolled up sleeves and pant legs. His spots had gotten so bad that there was a specific horde of fellow Slytherins that liked to refer to him as ‘Zitmin’ (Eren had nearly broken his knuckles from punching in the general _direction_ of many faces for that nickname). He’d had large, glaring braces, a little too big for his mouth. His hair could never frame his face just right.

He’d been a little awkward, to say the least.

Now, though. Now he had underclassmen and upperclassmen alike turning their heads.

He’d slimmed out, grown a few inches, lost the braces and hadn’t bothered to cut his hair over the break. He’d finally grown into most of his clothes, and though his face was still round, Armin easily pulled off the baby-face look. His complexion had cleared up practically overnight from what Eren could see—smooth, soft skin with hardly any blemishes.

Mikasa had aged rather nicely as well, with her long hair and her long legs and her perfect abs.

And Eren still had greasy fucking hair and spots and _still no goddamn dark hair._ He had long since convinced himself that everyone he associated himself with would eventually sell their soul to the devil to age gracefully and beautifully, while he was stuck looking like a Sadie Hawken’s date disaster. Even Jean had finally lost his braces, bright white teeth shining infuriatingly every single time the boy opened his mouth or smiled (which was a whole lot more often now-a-days and Eren almost kind of liked it).

“It’s just not fucking fair,” Eren muttered under his breath, Danny resting on his shoulder, his bag draped over the opposite one. “I’ve grown a little, but I haven’t hit _the point_ , you know? Everyone else in this goddamn world and their dogs have, but not me.”

“Maybe you’ll just look like shit forever,” Jean said, giving him a short shrug of his shoulders. He walked beside Eren on their trek from one side of the school to the other—a walk they’d been making inadvertently together since the first day of the year. They’d both decided to just buck up and walk together, instead of consciously worrying themselves to maintain a sizable distance. “Mikasa’s always been pretty, and now Armin. You’re officially the ugly friend. Congratulations, Jaeger.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, passing by a few lounging students and even a few running for their lives, late for their next classes. Eren cast a cautious little glance over to Jean, eyes narrowed.

“You’re not gonna have a crush on Armin next, are you?” he asked, cringing. They scaled a set of stairs and Eren nearly stumbled over his own feet at one point. “Because, seriously, we’re not doing that shit again. You having a crush on my _other_ best friend—Well, I’d prefer hell.”

“It’s not like I ever acted on my feelings with Mikasa,” Jean stated, as if Eren hadn’t already known that, sticking his tongue out at the muggle-born. “Besides, it’s not like I’m gay or something.”

“If you say so. You have French heritage. There’s always a chance.”

“Oh fuck off!”

Eren grinned, ducking out of the way of a half-hearted swing and jabbing Jean in the side. After some dirty looks from other students and one professor, they settled, shifted, and Eren guided Danny down into his bag.

“We’ve still got some time before we have to get to class.” Eren peered over at Jean. “Armin said he was helping Professor Smith with some book organizing and stuff, since he has a free period. Wanna stop by and see if they need help?”

“Not particularly,” the other wizard replied. “But if it’ll kill time, we might as well.”

When they rounded the corner together, the corridor was empty—almost a little too empty for comfort. There were no sounds, not from behind any of the doors they passed on their way to the charms classroom, though they chattered and bickered between themselves (something about how Jean’s Hawk Owl could devour Eren’s rat, and how Eren would gladly roast Jean’s Hawk Owl if it tried). They stopped at the Charms classroom’s door and Eren considered knocking, though only for a second, before he pushed the door open without so much as a creak.

“ _Oh, fuck—“_

_“God . . .”_

It took a few reeling seconds and a quiet squeaking noise from the boy next to him for Eren to completely register what he was seeing. Though it was hardly visible from where the two boys stood at the entrance, they caught glimpses. Glimpses of a blond-haired boy splayed out on the desk up in the loft, legs in the air and draped over wide shoulders, hands everywhere, mouths everywhere—

Wide-eyed and red-faced (but certainly not willing to stick around), Eren grabbed Jean’s wrist and forcefully dragged him away from the Charms classroom, leaving the door to slam shut in their wake. Neither of them said a single word until they reached their next class and slumped against the wall just outside. They gasped for breath, hands on knees and heads ducked down low, shame and something a lot like regret for ever thinking stopping by the Charms classroom was a good idea burning through their chests.

“Oh God, I can’t—“

“We’re not speaking of this,” Eren said, effectively shutting Jean up. The pure-blood was dark red too, eyes still wide with shock and slight confusion. “Never. Got it? Never. To anyone. We will take this to our graves, you got that, Kirstein?”

“Uh—Y-Yeah. Yeah. Sure.”

“Not sure—“

“Okay, shit! I swear!”

 

_+_

 

“What would you say if I told you I was gay?”

Eren sat where he was beside Jean in the empty study room, blood pounding in his ears loud enough to muffle the sounds of his own racing thoughts. He didn’t know why Jean would feel like he needed to share something like this, because none of it seemed logical. He hated Eren. He hated Eren’s presence, his voice, his face, his personality. Yet he spent nearly every fucking day with Eren (though not entirely willingly, but he hadn’t bitched about their arranged seating in Defense Against The Dark Arts in ages, and he was still willingly taking the class), nearly every fucking day talking to Eren.

And maybe, just maybe, this was what Eren had been waiting for.

Somewhere along the way, his subconscious had formed this _thing_ for Jean that hadn’t surfaced until that very moment. Eren, for one, had never intended on feeling anything but resentment for Jean. It hadn’t been his doing, it hadn’t been consensual. But he sat there with his heart beating at top speed for something he hoped for and renounced at the same time, some outlandish hope for what might come next.

“I would say shit happens,” Eren replied, voice a little too controlled and even to sound like his own. He didn’t lift his eyes from his notes, didn’t look to see if Jean was looking at him. “And good for you.”

Instead of anything Eren had ever hoped for, Jean made some sort of low, noncommittal and casual noise in the back of his throat and resumed  scratching at his paper with his quill. Eren was disappointed, though not as thoroughly as he had anticipated. The day was full of surprises, apparently.

Though he never really confirmed what he’d more or less implied (or, really, the dead giveaway), Eren got the point.

 

_+_

The summer before their sixth year was spent with Mikasa and her family. Being away from Hogwarts but in a magical environment had been intriguing, even if he and Mikasa were still, technically, not allowed to use magic. Her parents were bright and happy and they accepted Eren into their house with open arms (not for the first time, of course, as he’d visited before during school breaks, but he’d never anticipated to spend an entire three months with them). Armin stayed with them, as well, for the first few weeks before travelling with his parents for the remainder of the break.

And he met a boy in the small neighborhood Mikasa and her family lived in.

He was a pureblood, too, but never treated Eren any differently. He kissed Eren the first day they met (and Eren thought he was a little too urgent, a little too eager, but the brunette had never kissed anyone before, so he didn’t consider himself an expert), and subsequently every day they were together. And though Eren was hesitant, unsure, he even slept with him after only knowing him for a week.

The boy wasn’t what Eren had expected, or what he wanted. That week was the only week the spent together, and afterward, Eren couldn’t even remember his name.

“He just wasn’t right,” Mikasa murmured softly, arms wound around Eren’s shoulders as she rubbed his back. He rested his forehead on her shoulder, grimace hidden from her view. “He wasn’t Jean, right?”

He ripped himself away from her with so much force that he stumbled over his own feet and landed flat on his ass. He stared up at Mikasa with wide eyes, eyebrows raised impossibly high. He gaped at her, mind grappling for words among his inarticulate and jumbled thoughts.

“Mikasa . . .” he croaked. “I don’t—No, Jean’s not—Seriously! That’s—“

“If you say so,” the witch said, stepping around him. She only stopped to pat his head before seating herself on the edge of her bed, watching him with an analytical gaze. “But he’s all you ever talk about. He’s all you ever think about. He’s basically taken over your life, Eren. One of these days you’ll realize it.”

“Jean’s just—Jean’s nothing, he’s just a douche,” Eren tried weakly, pushing himself up to his feet. He turned to face Mikasa, jaw still hanging a little slack. “We study together and we’re perpetually stuck next to each other in Defense Against the Dark Arts and sometimes we play Quidditch together. He’s just—He’s just Jean.”

“Jesus, Eren, it’s like you’re working through the stages of grief. I’m sure being with Kirstein wouldn’t be _that_ bad.”

“I don’t want to think about being with him, Mikasa.”

“But you do anyway.”

Eren glared at her. She was supposed to be his best friend—She was supposed to let him stew in his false beliefs, right? Maybe he was delusional, sure, but she should’ve known he was no force to be reckoned with. His feelings were his own to decide.

But she was fucking right and he was fucking angry.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, smiling a little and patting the spot beside her on the bed. Dutifully, he sat down next to her with a frown at his lips. “Seriously. You are allowed to have feelings for him. Nobody’s stopping you. You have no obligations. Sure, I think you’re a little crazy for your attraction to him, but I also think Jean, himself, is a little crazy for his attraction to you.”

Eren’s eyes widened. “He’s attracted to me?”

“Oh, sweetheart.”

He glared at his friend uselessly, slumping against her with an unnecessarily loud sigh. She chuckled, though it was more of a soft huff under her breath, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders to run her fingers through his hair.

“It’s not so bad,” the Hufflepuff murmured. “I mean, his family _is_ filthy rich.”

“His family would want nothing to do with me.”

“You two can pretend to be best friends after you start dating. Tell them you’re pureblood. They’ll never find out. And you know if he ever hurt you, I’d castrate him for you. It’s win-win.”

“Shut up, Mikasa. I’ll tell everyone about your crush on Annie.”

“I will destroy you.”

 

_+_

 

Sixth year was easily the hardest for Eren to handle.

While, yes, the classes got substantially more difficult and challenging with every passing year, he had no trouble with his classes. Quidditch went as well as always, and Gryffindor even won their first skirmish against Slytherin, and then again against Ravenclaw. Professor Levi seemed to have backed off a bit, though he still swore and threatened colorful and creative deaths upon his students (and the other professors, really). The grounds keeper, Oluo Bossard, had eased up on the sixth years’ curfew, even, and seemed much less grumpy as the days went on.

Eren had even finally grown away from his oily hair, finally hit his growth spurt, finally discovered that dark hair he’d been lacking for ages. Girls looked at him more, now, even if their attention was less than important to him. 

The problem was that he, unmistakably, could not stop _caring in general_ about Jean, who was suddenly spending all of his free time with Marco Bodt.

See, Marco had no enemies. He was honest, if not a little harsh at times, he was supportive, and he was caring. He gave out smiles and hugs like he was a walking charity, helping others with their homework when they needed it, scolding students when they didn’t pay attention in class. He was the male Hufflepuff sixth year prefect, the purple badge pinned to his cloak shining nicely in the light wherever he went.

Everyone liked Marco. Even Eren couldn’t dislike Marco. He could be jealous, though, jealous that Jean was spending less time bothering him (though just a few years ago it would’ve been counted as a blessing), spending less time in the study room that had once been like a secret hangout. They still bickered like always in Professor Levi’s class, still gave each other dirty looks from across the Great Hall, still shit-talked each other on their way to the Quidditch field. And Jean did come to the study room, but Marco was always there with him.

Marco was attractive, sure. Every time he smiled, he flashed pearly white teeth and his eyes shone. He and Jean looked nice together when Eren watched them from across the study table, mumbling something about a potion or a charm one of them was struggling with.

Eren wouldn’t be surprised if they were dating.

The mere thought made Eren’s blood boil.

The Hufflepuff had to be some sort of sentient being, though. Every time Eren stared over at them, remembering what it was like just before summer break where he and Jean could lounge around in the study room and talk about useless things, back against back because the chairs could get uncomfortable after a while, Marco was standing up and excusing himself to the bathroom. He had this odd habit of smiling at Eren as he stood, just behind Jean, and smiled, nodding towards the Slytherin in front of him, before disappearing out of the study room to the bathroom.

Whatever the hell was wrong with him was lost to Eren the moment Jean fell silent, only casing Eren an odd little look before returning to whatever book or paper was in his hands.

 _It’s stupid, so fucking stupid_ , Eren thought, fingers gripping the strap of his bag as he stalked down the hall. Though Jean and Marco had left hours before him, he’d stuck around in the study room, glaring at his papers and muttering about, “Stupid Jean, stupid Marco, boys are fucking stupid, so stupid,” under his breath. He’d ended up falling asleep, head resting on the very edge of his Potions book, leaving a sizable dent on his forehead. It was dark already, and he’d be lucky if Bossard didn’t catch him on his way back to the Gryffindor rooms. _Why don’t they just announce to the entire school that they love each other so much or whatever. They’re practically married! Might as well, right?_

He took a sharp turn around a corner and ran directly into another body.

Eren stumbled back, eyes wide, dread set into the pit of his stomach. That dread settled when, instead of the grounds keeper, he was met with a fairly disgruntled Jean.

“Hey! Watch where you’re goi—Oh. Eren?” Jean’s eyebrows rose and he grinned, books in hand, face a little flushed. “This brings back memories, yeah? You just now leaving the study room?”

“Yeah,” the muggle-born replied, frowning a little. “Where are you going?”

“Back to the dorms. Me ‘n Marco were talking and we lost track of time. You should hurry, too, or we’ll both end up caught by Bossard and his shitty cat.”

Eren seethed, the all-too-familiar feeling of jealousy, rational or otherwise, burning in his chest and twisting his stomach into ugly knots. He grimaced inwardly and half-heartedly glared up at Jean. Somewhere in his mind he knew he had no real right to be jealous; it wasn’t like Jean was his. He was supposed to hate the pure-blood, especially after their first time meeting on the train to Hogwarts. They weren’t supposed to have grown close; much less learned how to enjoy each other’s company.

_Fuck Mikasa. She’s so right._

He scoffed, but he wasn’t sure at what. He was vaguely aware of Jean’s eyes on him as he stepped around the Slytherin, shrugging the bag more securely onto his shoulder. Jean caught his arm, though, effectively stopping him from continuing on and turning him to face him head-on.

“What’s your problem?” Jean demanded more than asked, frowning. “You don’t have the best attitude in general, but right now it’s pretty shitty.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Eren muttered in response, rolling his eyes. “I don’t have a problem. I’m just trying to get back to the dorms.”

“You’re so full of shit, Eren. _Seriously_ , what’s up? You don’t get pissy over nothing.”

“Oh, yeah, you know all about me.”

“I know more than you seem to think!”

“Well, I don’t seem to know much about you. When are you and Marco gonna go public?”

Jean’s eyebrows shot upward before furrowing, his head tilting to the side slightly. He seemed to be working a question around in his mind uselessly, lips forming words that he didn’t manage to actually work out. Eren could almost visibly see the gears in his mind turning, burning away at the little bands keeping Jean’s pathetic little mind intact.

“You and Marco,” he said slowly, patronizingly. He was being an ass and he knew it. He’d never particularly thought that Jean and Marco were dating or anything like that, it wasn’t a silly misunderstanding—it was just pure envy speaking for him. “You two have been spending an awful lot of time together.”

Finally, everything clicked for the pureblood. His eyes widened and his hand dropped from Eren’s arm, conflict and a bit of confusion flickering over his features.

“What? No, Marco and I—we’re not dating or anything! He’s just—He’s been helping me with some things, y’know?”

“Like what?” Eren asked, narrowing his eyes. “I’m pretty sure you’re just covering your ass.”

“Fuckin’—are you serious right now, Eren?”

“Prove it.”

Jean blinked once and visibly paled. “Prove what?”

“That you two aren’t together,” Eren replied, a light, forced smirk on his lips. There should have been a limit to how far he could drag this along, but he wanted a reason. He wanted security, closure. He wanted to know that nobody was claiming Jean Kirstein, when he knew it was unlikely to begin with. Above all, he wanted Jean’s attention back on him, not solely but back to the way things were before, but that was the least likely option. “Prove it to me.”

“How the hell am I supposed to prove it?” Jean growled, gripping the front of Eren’s shirt. His cheeks were a dark red now, the flush spreading to his neck and his ears. “You entitled little shit, I don’t have to prove anything to you! What are you, jealous?”

Eren flinched and turned his head, eyes focusing anywhere but Jean. He could lie but he didn’t and Jean froze, grip on Eren’s shirt slacking. The pureblood’s shoulders slumped and he leaned a little closer to Eren.

“What . . .? You’re not gonna tell me you _are_ jealous, are you?”

Eren hissed under his breath, granting Jean only one short glance.

His eyebrows were still furrowed, honey-colored eyes locked on Eren’s. He was too close, so close it felt like suffocating. Eren was worried, momentarily, that his stomach might have eaten itself, that his throat might actually close up. It was the feeling of losing a Quidditch match, of finding out that he’d failed a test in Professor Levi’s class, of hearing that Armin had been cornered by some of his own house mates for being a half-blood and Eren hadn’t been there to help. It was the feeling of defeat, of disappointment, self-deprecation.

“I’m not telling you shit,” he said, and it was meant to sound defiant, but his voice cracked and his venom was lost. “Come on, Kirstein, let me get back to my dorms. It’s late. Bossard’s going to come around the corner at any moment.”

Jean’s hand slipped away from Eren’s shirt and the brunette’s heart dropped in a way that flooded out his relief.

But fingers were lightly gripping Eren’s chin, only rough enough to force Eren to face the pureblood in front of him. Jean’s face was much too close to his own, much closer than he’d ever recalled it being. He didn’t move away or closer, though, at least not at first. He held eye contact with Eren, annoyance among other things very apparently in his eyes, in his posture.

“You’re a stubborn little shit, Eren,” Jean mumbled, the heat from his body radiating onto Eren’s. The muggle-born took a few steps away from Jean, dubious and confused, only for his back to hit the nearest wall and Jean to move forward with him. “Oh no, don’t start running away now. Say no and we can forget this entire thing, but if you want me to prove something to you, I’ll fuckin’ do it.”

Eren breathed out a shaky little laugh, palms pressed into the stone wall behind him. He had no doubt that his eyes were saucers, that his arrogant wall had started to crumble and he looked pathetic now. Jean wasn’t leaving, though, and Jean wasn’t backing down. They were too alike for their own good. “Prove it to me.”

Jean moved first, leaning fluidly towards Eren until their lips touched, only lightly, a mere brushing at first. The brunette leaned into Jean automatically though, on reaction, as if he’d been made to do it, made to feel Jean’s lips on his own. His eyes fluttered shut at the slightest contact and he surged forward, fingers finding Jean’s neck and the light scruff of his dark undercut, pulling him closer, closer, as close as he’d get. Patience had never been a virtue of Eren’s—when he wanted more, he wanted more right then and there. So when Jean pulled back after just a few moments, after their lips had just barely worked together, after they had just gotten a small, teasingly small taste of each other.

“Slow down, Eren, breathe,” Jean whispered, his words hot across Eren’s lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t know that, I mean this could be just one really elaborate prank,” Eren muttered, rolling his eyes. He didn’t really think Jean had the incentive, let alone competence to put together something that could’ve easily backfired like this. “You’ve done a lot of stupid shit in your lifetime, I know.”

“Shit head,” was Jean’s reply.

He leaned in again, though, sucking Eren’s lower lip into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it, grazing the soft flesh with his teeth. Eren shuddered, fingers gripping at the base of Jean’s hair, urging the Slytherin closer to him. No matter how close they were—heat radiating from their skin onto the other, chests touching, legs practically tangled—Eren wasn’t sated. Maybe it was years of suppressed urges that had started far too young (and his mother would probably be proud of him for putting off until this point because neither of them had been mature enough for anything like this before, and some would even doubt they were mature enough for it _now_ ), but he wanted to feel all of Jean that he could. He wanted to—

Footsteps from around the corner jerked Eren out of his thoughts and he was pushing Jean away, eyes wide. “Fuck,” he hissed, just a whisper, as he readjusted the strap of his bag. “We need to find somewhere to hide or Bossard will have our asses on a mantle. And he already hates me for kind of implying he’s in love with Petra.”

“Which way is he coming from?” Jean asked, clearing his throat quietly and readjusting himself. Eren pointed to their left before he grabbed the brunette’s hand and tugged him the other way, dragging him around the corner that Eren had come from before. “I think there are a few empty study rooms—wait, when did that get there?”

A foreign door protruded from the wall a mere fifteen feet away from the corner that they had turned. It was unrecognizable, though Eren had gone this way many times throughout the five years he’d spent at Hogwarts. He cocked his head to the side, peering over at Jean for an explanation, but none was offered. The Gryffindor shrugged, though, and made the first move towards it, testing the door handle before pushing it open, stepping inside, and pulling Jean along with him in a hurry. As silently as possible, he closed the door and leaned his ear against the crack, listening for the steps that, eventually, came and went with no falter.

“Whoa. Okay. Uh. Eren?”

Pulling his ear away from the door, Eren peered behind him to the other wizard, hand still in his grip.

“What’s up?”

“Since when was there a bedroom in the middle of the school?”

Eren frowned at Jean, only the words “since never” on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back.

Though he’d heard every word that had come out of Jean’s mouth, he still wasn’t expecting what he found when he looked around the room. There was a dresser, a door that likely lead to a closet, a bed that was at least a full, if not queen-sized (and it was decorated with standard issue dorm blankets and pillows), and a small chair. It was plain and a little small, but it was almost cozy, almost comfortable.

For what Eren was sure they both assumed a ghost bedroom.

 Maybe it was just magic, maybe it was something silly like the legended Room of Requirement. Either way, they had been presented a goddamn bedroom, a place to hide from grounds keepers and professors, and he’d be damned if they didn’t take advantage of it.

The muggle-born tugged his wand out of his back pocket to tuck it into his bag, dropped said bag on the floor, rid Jean of his books and steered the other boy towards the bed.

“If we’re breaking school rules, we might as well make the best of it,” Eren said, voice feigning nonchalance as he pushed Jean down onto the bed. Jean’s eyes were wide, his lips parted into a little ‘o’, baffled-looking, but he rested his hands on Eren’s hips when the boy crawled on top of him instead of pushing him away. “I mean, damn, there’s a bed here and everything.”

Eren kissed him this time, skipping any sense of gradualism, and Jean adapted on demand. His hands raked through Eren’s hair, lightly tugging when Eren nipped at his lip a little too hard or accidentally knocked their teeth together with his lack of substantial experience. Jean was better, though, more in control, easily extracting the obnoxious urgency out of Eren’s actions. While Eren had been grappling for reins on the situation, he found himself flipped over, Jean hovering over him with a grin.

“You suck at this,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses down Eren’s neck, only pulling back to tug Eren’s shirt off. “You don’t have to rush your pretty little head off. Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” Eren mumbled, but even he didn’t convince himself. His palms pressed flat into Jean’s shoulders (and absently, he wished he had the guts to pull the boy’s shirt off, too, so that he could feel his skin properly), his body twitching when Jean’s lips tickled his clavicle. “I’m—“

“I’m seriously staying right here.” Jean pulled back to look Eren straight in the eyes, brows furrowed in frustration. He leaned forward, pecking Eren lightly on the lips. “I’m serious, Eren. You can stop your freaking out, and don’t lie to me. You’re a fucking horrible liar, anyway. I don’t know why you try.”

Eren’s chest burned, his stomach twisting itself again. He gasped when Jean turned his attention back to his chest, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin, a tongue rolling over a nipple, a hand sliding down his side to grip his hip tightly.

He remembered his failed attempt to date Mikasa (and Armin still tried to insist he’d only done it to make Jean jealous), the boy he’d encountered in the summer whose name he still couldn’t recall because he’d spent too much time comparing him to Jean. He remembered a girl from year five who had confessed her feelings to him in the hallway, who he’d turned down before re-joining Jean in the study room. How he’d passed up the chance of going to the Winter Ball to keep Jean company because he was stuck in the infirmary with a cold and a dizzying fever.

He’d spoken about Jean to his mother as if he were just another student.

Truth be told, he was in every single aspect of Eren’s experience as a wizard. Every little thing truthfully defined them.

“What am I getting myself into?” he asked, voice just a whisper. His eyes burned and his vision blurred slightly, but he ignored it. His fingers wove into Jean’s short hair as the Slytherin chuckled, mouth travelling down his chest to his abdomen. He didn’t seem like he was going to stop any time soon, either.

Jean only paused to grin up at him, eyebrows waggling. “I think the question is what’s going to be _getting into you_.”

“Oh shut the fuck up, Kirstein.”

_+_

 

“So, I get that you and Marco aren’t dating or anything,” Eren murmured, curled up next to Jean under the covers. It was probably morning already, though they’d only slept a little bit. It was Saturday. They’d probably not come out until they got hungry. “But why did you bring him around the study room so much?”

Jean flushed, turning his head away. Eren was propped up, resting partially on Jean’s bare chest, chin resting in his hands, so no matter where Jean looked, Eren could see the redness to his cheeks.

The Slytherin cleared his throat. “I, uh—well. I started . . . I started getting a little nervous when we were alone together, and having a friend with me made it easier . . . And he was always trying to set us up, but you were too dense.”

Eren stared at Jean, and Jean stared anywhere _but_ at Eren. He was visibly flustered, trying to fight away his embarrassment. He chewed on his lower lip and squirmed a little under Eren’s gaze before he draped a hand over his face to ward off the stare.

“Oh my God,” Eren breathed, eyes wide. “You’re more of a loser than I thought. This is the most incredible discovery to ever grace the wizarding world. You got your friend to try to set us up. And it was completely useless.”

Jean glared uselessly, Eren’s bright grin not faltering even in the slightest.

Even though they had more important things to worry about, like studying, their relationship as it stood, how Jean’s parents would handle everything (they’d nearly disowned him for simply piercing his ears), they were content laying together in what they’d nicknamed the ghost bedroom. There were obligations, of course, but they’d leave them for later.

 

_+_

 

They had been bickering throughout the entire class period. Levi’s patience was wearing thing.

He couldn’t hear their conversation from where he sat at his desk, he only knew that it seemed like they were having some sort of competition to see who could be the most obnoxious piece of shit in all of Hogwarts. They were sixteen years old, for Merlin’s sake—they should’ve known better by now. They’d improved over the last few years, but he supposed ever considering praising them was the worst jinx.

Finally, when Jean had punched Eren in the shoulder and Eren had yelped with surprise or pain or whatever it was (Levi didn’t give a damn), he stood from his chair and slammed his book down onto his desk. He glared at the two who had frozen stock-still, along with the rest of the classroom, really, and pointed one long finger. He watched as they stiffened up and shared accusing glares with one another. Their hidden amusement, though, eyes alight and smiles fighting at the corners of their lips, was the most annoying aspect, however.

“Do I need to bind your hands together like I did when you two were second years?” he threatened, eyes narrowing.

“No sir!” they both called back, ducking their heads.

“Then shut the fuck up for a while. You can survive the last bit of your study time without being total shit heads.”

As he picked up his book again and re-found his place, he peeked over the edge to catch the two of them sharing a mischievous grin. He gritted his teeth, gripping the spine of his book a little too hard, irritated and already very much ready to take a nap or get his hands on some coffee. But Eren placed his hand on the top of the table, palm-up, and Jean slid his hand on top. Their fingers wove together and they smiled, more to themselves than each other, before returning to their work, much quieter than Levi was aware they could be.

_Oh, these little shits._


End file.
